


Jingle My Bells

by hdarchive



Category: Glee
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:53:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2778944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hdarchive/pseuds/hdarchive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt’s trying to figure out why his boyfriend broke up with him a few days before Christmas. He finds Blaine instead</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jingle My Bells

He wakes up and tries to convince himself it isn’t real.

It didn’t actually happen - his boyfriend didn’t actually break up with him at his office’s Christmas party.

_I don’t think this is working out._

And he’s still trying to figure out what there is to work out - they were happy and . . sort of in love, right? So what wasn’t working out? It doesn’t feel real. To one day have a boyfriend and then wake up the next day, completely single, without a clue as to why -

Kurt makes himself breakfast, turns on the TV, and tells himself over and over that it wasn’t working out for a reason, they just weren’t meant for each other.

His - their - Christmas tree is lit up in the corner, shining beautifully and decorated carefully, with green and gold and purple accents that Kurt had obsessed over. And really? He couldn’t have waited a few more days until this Christmas madness was over and Kurt didn’t have to spend the rest of his holiday vacation staring at the remnants of a broken relationship - ?

There’s nothing worse than loneliness during Christmas. The radio is playing sad, sad love songs and they had plans today to go to the Santa Claus parade and all that hope, all that cheer, is gone, forgotten. Instead he’s left with a black hole in his gut and one half of their matching couple’s Christmas sweaters.

It didn’t work out for a reason. Kurt chants this in his head and he sits and broods, arms folded over his chest, glaring at the tree. He’s good enough, he’s good enough, he’s more than enough for anybody and it didn’t work out with jerk-face-Josh for a reason and he’s more than enough and he’ll prove it -

Kurt removes each ornament one by one, then dismantles the tree and shoves it back into the depths of his closet. He shuts off the radio, turns off the TV, and before he jumps in the shower to get ready, he blows out his candy cane scented candle.

-

He’s only going to drink enough to forget, just for tonight. He’s good enough and he’s allowed to do this, he’s allowed to have fun, and maybe hopefully somebody will explain to him what exactly isn’t working out.

Unfortunately for Kurt, the bar is decked out in holiday decor. From a huge, round wreath on the door, sparkling lights dinging all around him, to the Pointer Sisters blasting as soon as he steps inside.

He parks himself down into a bar stool, taps his nails against the counter and contemplates leaving. There’s got to be another bar somewhere that doesn’t look like Santa’s workshop, a dingy dark place where Kurt can drown out his sorrows and forget.

A place where people don’t feel inclined to sing so goddamn loudly -

“Batmobile lost a wheel and the Joker got away! Hey!” somebody sings, loud and obnoxious, causing a chain reaction of drunken laughter.

Kurt’s covering his face with one hand, peering through his fingers to pinpoint the source of the noise. He’s expecting some frat guy, or maybe an old balding man, but instead he’s met with the sight of a guy who looks nothing like a frat guy or an old balding man - younger, neatly-styled hair, and around his neck is a bowtie made of antlers with Rudolph’s nose in the middle -

He starts another round, this time more people joining in, and Kurt’s hand slips from his face, dangerously close to smacking his head down into the counter. He mumbles, maybe louder than he means to, “Hey, buddy, I’m sure if you laid off on the singing Santa would still keep you on the nice list.”

The man looks at him, smile freezing and eyebrow twitching, and shit he definitely heard that -

“I’m sorry,” the man says, raising his drink in Kurt’s direction. “We’re all in the holiday spirit over here.”

Tongue slick and pointed, that blazing reminder of loneliness in his stomach, Kurt spits back, “Well, give me a gift and _cut it out_.”

A smile forms on the man’s face, corners of his mouth twitching, almost evilly, and he sips his drink before looking away.

Kurt turns back to face the bar, staring down at the countertop and rubbing over his temples. Oh, he was such an idiot to think one night could just - make it better. That Christmas could stop from coming and his heart would stop from breaking.

He hears the sound of a glass being slid, closer to him, until he’s staring straight down at a drink. Kurt arches his shoulders back, head lifting as he scans the crowd, the bartender motioning with his thumb to _that man_ , leaning against the counter and suddenly so much closer.

“Okay,” Kurt drawls, annoyed. “What is this?”

The man shrugs, smiles. “You seem like you need it.”

Kurt holds back ferocious laughter, instead chuckles forcibly. “No, what I need is to not hear Mariah Carey every single second of every single day, what I need is to not see another freaking Christmas sweater -”

Kurt’s eyes fall on the man’s sweater, and how in the world did he not notice it before? It’s bright green and says _Jingle My Bells_.

He can’t suppress his groan, rubbing at his eyes. “Please tell me I’m imagining this.”

The other man pulls at his sweater, smiling proudly at it. “Nope, this is the real deal.”

“Kill me.”

The seat next to him is being dragged out, the man settling in, inching the drink back towards Kurt. He takes it, reluctantly - but who is he to pass up free alcohol - and takes a sip.

“What’s got you all riled up?” the man asks, sipping at his own drink. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I do mind.”

“Then don’t say anything.”

“I won’t.”

Kurt closes his eyes again, chugs back more of his drink, tries to drown out the noise of the music but this man is - humming, overly cheery and that’s definitely the tune to _All I Want For Christmas Is You_ and Kurt’s going to set him on _fire_ -

Opening his eyes, he sees that the man is smiling at him - but it’s not wicked, or cruel, it’s almost kind and it’s almost like a key to his chest full of secrets - or maybe it’s just the alcohol talking.

“My boyfriend - ex-boyfriend, I guess - well, he ended it.” Kurt sighs, spine bending and shoulders slouching.

“I’m - I’m so sorry,” the man says immediately, hand reaching across the counter.

“Don’t be,” Kurt snaps, shaking his head. “He wasn’t - he wasn’t what I was looking for, clearly.”

“So why are you so upset?”

The man is closer, leaning into his space, and part of Kurt wants to slide his chair to the other side of the room but another part wants to slide closer - _it’s gotta be the alcohol._

“Because!” he bawks, hands fumbling in the air. “What if I’m not - what if I’m not what anyone else is looking for - ?”

His eyes flick over to the other man, pausing his hand motions to take in his expression.

He’s grinning with half his mouth, eyes settling far too knowingly on Kurt, and he sounds teasing as he asks, “Grouchy and anti-Christmas? What’s not to love?”

Kurt can’t hold onto his laughter, bright and stabbing in his throat, and he knocks his elbow against the other man’s. “I have my reasons. But you’re here because . . ?”

“Because I love to spread Christmas cheer!” he exclaims, downing his drink and clapping his hands. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think the crowd has waited long enough for my rendition of _Santa Baby_.”

Kurt slaps his hand over his face, mumbles, “- _nonono_ -”

“I’ll dedicate it specially to you,” the other man sings.

“Please don’t.”

“Your name? Or am I just going to have to call you _Handsome Stranger Who Hates Christmas?”_

His laugh doesn’t sting this time, unguarded and loud. “Kurt! It’s Kurt!”

There’s a hand being offered to him, and Kurt doesn’t hesitate in taking it. “Pleasure to meet you, Kurt. I’m Blaine.”

And with a wink, he’s gone.

-

Blaine dedicates every song to him, and Kurt finds himself smiling, blushing, even.

Then he finds himself singing along, regardless of the fact that he spent all morning swearing he’d never sing to another Christmas song ever again.

But he hadn’t known somebody like Blaine existed earlier this morning. He’s never met anyone who’s so into Christmas before. Dancing crazier to every song and knowing every word, yelling out _Merry Christmas!_ to every person he passes, and as it turns out, his bowtie lights up -

It’s contagious, is what it is. A disease that’s claimed Kurt as its next victim, joy spreading green and red and gold in his veins.

His only answer was yes when Blaine asked him to dance. Starting off with red-faced shame and awkward footsteps - him and jerk-faced-Josh never really danced - until Blaine’s hands were swinging his wildly and they looked like a mess and people were cheering for some bizarre reason.

All thoughts disappeared. Who is Josh? What is a broken heart? He’s never known any of them, as far as he’s concerned.

He crashes back down at the bar, the whole world spinning and dizzy and he realizes just how empty he is - of love and life and whatever it is he’s looking for - and he came here for a reason, not sure what he’d find, it definitely wasn’t Blaine -

But to go back to that apartment, silent and empty and not a decoration in sight -

There’s an arm slung around his neck, a body pressing into his, a cheery voice shouting, “Has my Christmas spirit spread yet?”

Kurt laughs, leaning into Blaine, and uses one hand to reach up and loosely grab at his bowtie.

He slurs - nearly purs - back, “It has and now I’m infected.”

His eyes flick up to see Blaine grin. “Then my mission is complete.”

“Your mission?”

“Consider it a Christmas miracle, really,” Blaine continues. “To get the _Handsome Stranger Who Hates Christmas_ to not hate Christmas.”

Kurt hums to himself, squints his eyes at Blaine suspiciously. “So I’ve been played.”

“I wouldn’t use the word played,” Blaine shrugs. “I like how you said it - infected.”

He wants to laugh and burst and cry and if it’s not the alcohol talking he should be scared. But he’s empty and lonely and not enough, but he wants to be enough and he is enough - so it’s either courage or pure stupidity driving him forward as drops his forehead to Blaine’s shoulder and asks, “Any more miracles for me?”

Blaine’s arm stiffens, pulls away a little. “What do you mean?” he asks, sounding more serious and cold than he has all night.

Pure stupidity, definitely pure stupidity.

Kurt smiles, coyly, traces over the letters that cross Blaine’s chest. “I think you know what I mean.”

Blaine’s arm disappears and he steps back, and when Kurt looks into his eyes it almost looks as if Blaine hasn’t had a drink all night.

“Didn’t you just get out of a relationship?

“He wasn’t what I was looking for, remember?”

And it’s like the longer he stares at Blaine the more he forgets about everything else. The creeping emptiness fades away and he can almost feel -

Blaine asks, low and gravelly, “And I am?”

“For now, sure.”

He’s pulled to his feet, Blaine’s arms around his middle, his lips close to his ear as he mumbles, “Well . . it is Christmas time, and I am all about spreading Christmas cheer . .”

Kurt - cackles, shaking his head and scrunching his eyes because _what_ is he doing - ?

“Oh my god, you’re an idiot.”

-

He may be an idiot, but once his hands fit over Kurt’s waist and he starts to guide him through the crowd and outside, Kurt can hardly care.

Really, what are the odds? This time last night his heart was being trampled over and now -

Okay, so, maybe him and jerk-face-Josh weren’t meant for each other.

But was it really so he could be here with Blaine?

What if that’s not even his real name? What if he’s an escaped convict or what if there’s a warrant out for him, because he’s insane and that’s the only explanation as to why he’s not locked up right this second -

Kurt shoves Blaine back against his car. And maybe - well, maybe he’s a bit insane, too.

The thing is: he _really_ doesn’t care he doesn’t care - Blaine’s kissing him and he smells and tastes like peppermint and he’s jingling with every movement because of his stupid sweater and Kurt doesn’t care.

Let him be insane, just for a moment, and maybe things will make sense, maybe things will work out.

“Here?” Blaine nearly squawks, pressing one hand against the glass, using the other to dig his keys out of his pocket.

Kurt nods as he moves his lips against his, hands on his face, chasing each kiss and refusing to let him get more than a centimeter away. “I can’t wait much longer.”

“Okay -” Blaine mumbles, tilting his face, Kurt’s lips sliding along his cheek. “Well, I mean - it’s not the most romantic place in mind -”

Kurt drops his hands to the collar of Blaine’s sweater, bunching and pulling it, and asks with one eyebrow raised, “When have I ever mentioned romance?”

He feels Blaine smile against him, the spread of his lips, and Blaine lowers his hands and frames Kurt’s waist, pulling him in. “Alright, alright.”

Before this spell wears off - because if it’s not a spell he’s under then he’s clearly living in some alternate universe where elves are _sexy_ \- Kurt wrenches the back door open once Blaine’s unlocked it, shoving him forward and down onto the seats, and quickly crawls in.

Blaine’s jingling as he works his belt undone, mumbling, “- we could at least turn on the heater -”

Kurt leans down, tucking his face into Blaine’s neck, mouthing at his jaw and using his own hands to finish undoing Blaine’s belt before he’s unzipping his pants, working them down.

One of Blaine’s hands fit over his side, and he’s laughing as he asks, “It’s the sweater, right? Is that what got you?”

Kurt pulls back with a smack, breathing hard. “I’d prefer it off.”

They’re both trying to kiss the other but they’re both laughing - and he should be embarrassed that he’s so desperate and it’s _Blaine_ , but then both of Blaine’s hands are on him again, one around his neck, holding him down and closer, and the other is cupping his jaw, kissing him so hard everything else goes white - sparks and steel against steel -

Words harsh, voice like sandpaper, Blaine says, “If you don’t have a condom -”

Kurt pats over his jacket, fishes through his pockets before holding one up.

“I always come prepared,” he says, out of breath.

Blaine’s eyes lock with his for a moment, a blink, and his smile changes from two hard corners to something softer, warmer.

“Of course.”

Except Kurt can’t get his hands to stop shaking, fumbling with the package so much he nearly drops it - excitement and glittering nerves are igniting him from the inside and he can’t sit still he needs he needs he’s close -

“Hey, hey,” Blaine’s voice is louder, a rope around his mind and tugging it down. “Hey, I’ll get it. Relax.”

And then he’s taking it from Kurt’s jittering hands.

“I can’t relax, I can’t -”

And then he’s kissing him again, but it’s not hard or too much or like nails against a chalkboard, it’s candle glow and homemade cookies and just how much he really, really tastes like peppermint -

Kurt’s breathing shudders out, slows and slows until it’s even.

“Lube?” Blaine’s asking - he thinks he is at least. His mind is in two different places because Blaine’s pulling out his cock and he can’t exactly focus on much else -

He reaches for his jacket again, eyes still trained on where Blaine’s sliding the condom over himself, and grabs a small packet of lube, dropping it in one of Blaine’s hands.

Swallowing thickly, he’s forgetting how to breathe again, oh god oh god -

“Jesus,” Blaine hisses, eyes wide where they’re travelling up and down his body. “What exactly _are_ you looking for?”

Words and words and stars and stars and Kurt can’t hear a thing, licking his lips, frantically wiggling back and forth to strip himself of his jeans, his shoes.

If this isn’t what he’s looking for then why does he want it so bad?

If he walked back into that bar would he be able to just choose somebody else? Does it have to be Blaine?

Kurt shucks off his jacket, cramped up and tight in the back of Blaine’s tiny car, but his mind has been hit and dragged along the road and the answer is already obvious. He doesn’t respond to Blaine, settling one hand on his chest and throwing one leg over his lap until he’s sitting along the center of him.

He nearly gasps when Blaine’s hands grab hold of his ass, squeezing warm fingers around each cheek, hitching him up closer. His heart is going to rocket straight out of his chest as Blaine spreads him, inching his fingers forward until they’re close -

“I already - I already did that,” Kurt sighs out, rocking himself forward.

Blaine’s staring up at him - in the dark his eyes are twinkling Christmas lights - and he smiles. “Of course you did.”

That doesn’t stop him from slipping a finger in, two fingers, three, crooking them just right but not giving him enough, so Kurt has to sink himself back down onto them, eyes sliding shut, hands curling hard over Blaine’s shoulders - “Oh, oh, god -”

His legs are beginning to tremble from working himself up and down, so he settles back on Blaine’s knees, legs spread, and waits as Blaine pumps over his cock, adding lube.

He can’t help it; he licks his lips, mumbles, “A Christmas miracle indeed.”

Blaine snorts, shakes his head. “Who’s the cheesy one now?”

Tension is a crackling fire underneath him, can’t wait any longer or it’ll burn, so he leans forward, props himself up against Blaine’s chest as he settles his legs properly on either side of him. Reaching back, he grabs at Blaine’s cock, holding back a whimper as his thumb skims over the head, and guides him forward as he lowers himself, slowly.

Blaine’s steadying his waist, eyes stuck on where his cock is disappearing between Kurt’s legs, but Kurt has to keep looking up, breathing in deep. His fingers are gentle where they’re wrapped around Blaine, guiding him inch by inch until the head is catching on his rim, hard and swollen as Blaine tries to jerk upwards.

He keeps his hand there, holding himself open, as Blaine sinks in.

“This can’t be comfortable.”

“I don’t - I don’t care -”

Which is quickly becoming his mantra tonight.

With each leg spread on either side of Blaine, settling himself further along Blaine’s cock, it’s hard to notice any discomfort, especially with how loud he’s breathing, how good it really is feeling.

An electrifying wave shocks him; and not because there’s a dick in his ass or because Blaine’s hands around his middle feels oddly comforting, but because his mind is finally growing into a place where - where -

It was meant to “not work out”, and that’s okay, because he’s here now and someway, somehow this is so much better -

Kurt drops all his weight, taking all of Blaine’s length, until his ass is flush against Blaine’s thighs and - oh, of course, he’s wearing Santa-themed boxers, but who is surprised - ?

His own fingers are still circling his hole, hesitantly feeling for the stretch, the hard throb of Blaine moving deeper inside him, but quickly moves them away, settling them on Blaine’s shoulders.

“So good -” he moans, throwing his head back, and moves in quicker jerks, up and down and faster, clenching down every time Blaine slides back in.

It doesn’t help when Blaine’s grabbing at his ass again, fingers pressing deep against his cheeks, dragging him forward with every thrust forward, Kurt’s own cock trapped between them as they rut together.

Together, in a cycle, bursts and jolts of tickling pleasure no matter the angle or the movement, and Kurt’s still kind of stuck on the fact of just how lucky he is to have landed him, out of everybody there -

Alcohol is swimming in his brain and in his veins and he thinks he’s insane - not for the first time, definitely - for even thinking about it but what if this is why it wasn’t working out -

“So when did you break up?” Blaine asks, face red and chest heaving, tearing his eyes away from their moving bodies.

Kurt sinks down, pauses to feel the pulse of Blaine inside of him, and leans forward to catch his breath against Blaine’s neck. “Sometime last night.”

Every part of Blaine stills, his hands like ice on Kurt’s ass, and then he’s sliding them up and grabbing at Kurt’s shoulders, pushing him back slightly. “What?”

“We broke up last night,” Kurt says again, this time slower, one eyebrow arched.

He’s never seen Blaine’s eyes so wide, the shock he wears so clearly you can almost hear it, and his mouth falters before he spits out, “So - I’m like your - your rebound?”

“No.” Kurt exhales, shaking his head. He begins to circulate his hips, rocking forward to catch friction against his cock, grinding down on Blaine’s. “You’re just . . a fuck.”

“ _What?!_ ”

Kurt can’t help but smile, almost victoriously, as he looks down at Blaine, trying to not explode with how filled he is and how bad he wants it _faster_. “Well, what am I to you?”

Blaine almost transforms right before him; sad, wide eyes darkening, frown of his lips pulling up into a smirk, and his hands smack down on Kurt’s ass, gripping him hard, and Kurt has to groan out loud, falling forwards in surprise by the force, hands landing on Blaine’s chest.

“You,” Blaine begins, squeezing him, “are a beautiful boy that I am -”

“Currently fucking in the backseat of a car,” Kurt finishes, suppressing an eye roll in favour of a moan, tilting his head back again as he bounces himself up, down, deeper.

Blaine’s mouth drops, hands losing their grip, and he falters as he says, “Okay, while that may be true - I’d love to take you out for dinner, or maybe coffee - how does ice skating in the park sound?”

Laughter scrubs at his throat, tries to force itself out, but instead Blaine jerks upwards and he whines, high pitched and rasping and desperately needing air, “- please be quiet, I’m close -”

Blaine’s hands run up the dip of his back, along every curve, and spread out, hauling him closer, curving his body inwards, and he’s - he’s never been held like this before.

Blaine smirks, quirks his head and asks, “Already?”

Kurt pinches him through his sweater, this time actually laughing, louder than he should. Blaine narrows his eyes and then his whole body is being jostled upwards, downwards, over and over again and holy - oh god - alright, this elf can move and Kurt can’t breathe -

It’s a shock to him when he feels Blaine’s fingers around his cock, slick and hot and sliding, up and twisting just right and he’s overwhelmed, assaulted, pleasure and fireworks raining down on him from every angle -

Blaine thrusts up, hard, staying there, and Kurt relaxes his legs and lets him in as deep as he can go - hitting and hitting and Kurt’s either moaning or screaming or coming or all three -

He shudders in waves against Blaine, spilling into his hand - and it’s one of those rare moments, the kind you get when you wake up from a dream and for one second, and only one second, the dream makes sense and feels amazing and you can’t believe it’s not reality -

The second slips by and his mind is emptied and he forgets about the bliss, the feeling, the freedom, he forgets why it makes sense - he just knows he wants more -

Kurt works himself back on Blaine’s cock, shuddering through every thrust, feeling tangled and torn - he clenches tight, mutters, “Come on come on I want to feel it -”

Blaine’s arms wrap around him completely, pulling him towards his chest, and Kurt smiles when he jingles.

Maybe the moment continues, maybe it just gets more confusing, but Blaine says, quietly, “You are really something else. Where have you been all my life?”

He doesn’t even have a second to think _in the wrong place, clearly_ because Blaine’s grabbing him tight, straining his hips upwards, pulsing and coming and coming inside him -

In the wrong place but - how on earth is he the right place?

With Kurt still on his lap, Blaine surges forward, reaching forward for a box of kleenex in the console.

This time last night he was crying into a plate of fruit cake, wondering what’s wrong with him and what about him doesn’t work and _whywhywhy_ he was broken up with at that exact time -

And it’s like -

And it’s like maybe, now, twenty-four hours later, he sort of knows.

Kurt’s fumbling for his pants, but he isn’t rushing, slipping his underwear back on and just - watching, because maybe he isn’t so bad and maybe dinner doesn’t sound that horrendous -

Until Blaine reaches forward again, sliding his key in and turning on the radio, and the tiny little car is filled with jingle bells and a choir and Blaine singing along to _Sleigh Ride_ as he shuffles his pants back up.

“I really hate you,” Kurt says, definitively.

Blaine turns to him, smiling, and Kurt’s never noticed how dark his hair is before, or how pointed his eyebrows are, but he’s noticed his smile and his laugh and he’s definitely noticed that feeling - warmth and waking up from a dream and happiness - that Blaine carries with him.

There’s a lot he doesn’t know about Blaine, and maybe he isn’t meant to.

“So . . is that a no to ice skating?” Blaine asks, sounding nervous. “I know you - I know you’re just recently single but - I’d love to -”

Kurt leans over, slowly, and melts into Blaine’s side, hand coming up to tweak Blaine’s bowtie.

And that’s what he does know; he’s insane and he wears clothing that needs to be burned and he loves Christmas more than anyone normal should - and somehow, in the span of a couple of hours, he’s managed to light up Kurt’s life from the inside out, decorating every corner and spreading cheer wherever he can reach - literally - and maybe he _is_ meant to.

“That depends,” Kurt trails off, pulling at Rudolph’s nose. “Do you have any other Christmas sweaters that I should know about?”

Blaine laughs, chest rattling underneath Kurt’s hand. “A whole closet full.”

He’s breathless as he laughs, nudging his nose against Blaine’s arm, shaking his head.

This morning he woke up and nothing felt right, and he came here to make it feel normal - and this is what he got.

Whatever he was looking for, this wasn’t it, but perhaps it’s . . . better.

“It should worry me that I don’t find that surprising in the least.”


End file.
